Poltergeist
by LordSadLampshade
Summary: Christina Haski has been hunting for nearly seven years of her life. A communication mishap with two other hunters forces her to work a short case with them. One-shot, 2730 words.


Christina was lucky she didn't shoot the guy on sight.

She was on edge enough as it was, what with a poltergeist throwing crap at her from the stair landing, but another hunter? _Here_? That was insane, not to mention extremely rare. Hunters didn't mix, unless they were working together. And this man certainly wasn't.

He was short- at least a good foot shorter than Christina herself, who wasn't going to win any awards for height. He had a shock of red hair and a long beard she could have sworn was braided, and he carried a massive Winchester rifle complete with a scope and silencer.

The gun was taller than he was.

"Who are you?" He snapped, in an accent Christina thought was Russian.

"I could ask the same," she replied, lowering her own weapon- a small shotgun- and switching the safety back on.

They stared in silence for a while, each daring the other to speak first. Christina sighed and said, "I'm Christina. So, you're a hunter?"

The Russian guy nodded. "Yeah. Yassen." He extended a hand.

Before either could say anymore, a vase flew towards their heads. Christina ducked while Yassen blasted the object out of the air with his rifle.

"That's one way to do it," she muttered under her breath as the Russian reloaded.

"The bastard will be back," Yassen said, heading towards the stairs. He tossed her a small bag.

"Salt rounds?" Christina guessed. Yassen nodded.

"Hurry up, we don't know when it'll throw something again."

Christina loaded the rounds into her shotgun, and followed him up the stairs and onto the landing.

As Yassen began to search one of the adjoining rooms, Christina felt an object press against her lower back.

"Drop the gun or I'll put a salt round in your back," a male voice told her.

Christina tried to look around as she dropped her shotgun on the carpet, but the man poked her in the back with his gun.

"Don't bother, princess," he said casually, taking her gun and spinning her around so he could check for other weapons.

"I don't want any trouble," Christina told him earnestly as he removed a hunting knife from her belt and a handful of ammo from her jacket pocket, "I'm a hunter."

The man looked up at her, doing a double take, and Christina saw his face.

He was young- the same age as her, maybe a little older- with green eyes and short, dishwater-blond hair. He wore the average hunter garb- thick boots, jeans and a whole wardrobe of layers everywhere else.

The young man laughed, the sound incredulous. " _You_? A hunter? You've gotta be kidding me."

Christina glared at him. "I've been hunting for seven years, pretty boy. I'm not kidding."

"Whatever you say, princess."

Christina swept her leg across the floor, knocking the young man over. Caught by surprise, he let go of her gun and she snatched it from the floor, levelling it at his chest.

"I'm not kidding," Christina repeated, trying to look bigger and tougher than she was.

In reality, if he'd been expecting it, she wouldn't have even made him stumble. He was a full foot taller and even under all the layers, Christina could tell he was fit. In most circumstances, she'd go out of her way to avoid him, to avoid conflict all together, and she cursed herself for trying to be impressive and knocking him over. _At least I have a weapon now, though_.

The young man, face a mask of surprise, started laughing again, picking himself up and raising his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he said, grinning, "you've got skills. I'm Dean. And you are...?"

"Christina. I want my rounds back. And my knife. Please and thank you."

Dean shrugged and tossed her the bullets, then handed her the knife hilt-first.

"Your friend," he pointed to the room Yassen had vanished into. "He a hunter too?"

Christina nodded. "He's not my friend. I only just met him a few minutes ago."

Dean gestured to the door of the room. "After you, princess."

Christina bristled. "My name is-"

She caught herself and sighed. _I'm too tired to do this shit now_. Dean raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him. Heading into the room, she muttered under her breath, "-Christina."

The room was large and almost a perfect square, with wooden floors and three out of the four walls made of rotting wood. The fourth wall was faded brick and a fireplace stood in the center of it. There were two large windows adorned with yellowing curtains, which overlooked the backyard of the old house. The sun was going down.

Yassen was standing in the center of the room when Christina entered. He shouted when he saw Dean, but after Christina explained who he was, Yassen calmed down and explained the situation.

"This is the poltergeist's base," Yassen told them, sweeping his rifle around the room. "We need to find the remains and destroy them before it comes back."

Christina cleared her throat. "Where should we start looking?"

Yassen grunted. "Under floorboards, in the walls, behind any loose bricks. If you think it's in there, it probably is. Don't miss anything."

Dean snorted but said nothing, and began to pull apart the loosest of the floorboards in the corner of the room. Yassen kicked in a few of the boards on the wall, hitting the stronger ones with a fist, looking for hollow areas. Christina crouched and stared up the chimney, coughing from the dust.

"Yassen, do you have a flashlight?" There was a _clunk_ , and a large flashlight bumped against her feet. Christina flicked it on and shone it up the chimney shaft, but the only thing she found was a bunch of startled bats and more dust.

Disappointed, she glanced over to the brick wall. _Might as well check it out_.

Christina walked over to the brick wall and poked it with her gun, looking for weak points. She found one almost immediately, and pried the brick from the wall. With it, a few more fell out, barely missing her feet. Christina cried out and jumped back as half of the wall crumbled down, revealing a fully-intact skeleton buried in the wall. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as Dean walked over with gasoline and a bag of rock salt.

The room suddenly went ice-cold. Christina realized too late that the poltergeist had returned, and tried to shout a warning at Dean, but another vase came flying at her head. She put up an arm to shield herself, and the vase shattered against it.

The pain was almost blinding, and Christina hissed as blood immediately began to drip down her arm. She heard Dean and Yassen call her name, and was able to focus enough to turn around and load a round of rock salt into her shotgun.

The poltergeist was half-visible and was hovering in the corner of the room. Christina's vision went red and she blasted the ghost with salt. It screeched and vanished.

Dean finished covering the bones in gasoline, and Yassen poured a few handfuls of salt on top for good measure. Dean pulled out a lighter and set the skeleton ablaze.

The poltergeist appeared again, letting out an earsplitting shriek before going up in flames. Then all was silent.

Dean ran over to Christina as Yassen made sure the fire had completely burnt the bones.

"Here," Dean said, passing Christina a cloth, "keep pressure on it. We can pull out the shards- if there are any- later."

"Okay." Christina bit the inside of her cheek, tears pricking at her eyes. She could feel the shards of porcelain inside her forearm. They stung every time she moved it. _And it was my right arm, too. Dammit_.

Yassen was at the door. "Time to go," he said gruffly, shouldering his rifle and tossing the empty can of gasoline and salt to Dean. "The cops do sweeps of this place all the time. We should make ourselves scarce before then."

"Do either of you have a way to leave?" Dean asked as the trio headed down the rotting stairs and out the back door, taking care to leave any objects undisturbed. Christina shook her head.

"Not exactly. I walked."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What, do you walk everywhere, princess?"

"I hitchhike." Christina felt her cheeks grow hot.

Dean whistled. "That must be dangerous."

Yassen cleared his throat. "Excuse me for interrupting you two love birds, but we need to get off the property. Now."

"Yassen, do you have a car or something?" Christina asked. The Russian nodded.

"Parked just down the road. I can take you to the hospital if you need medical help- it's on the way into town."

Christina hesitated. "Um, no, I'm okay. I'll go with Dean and patch myself up at my motel room." Dean made a noise she thought was half a snort, half a chuckle. She ignored it.

Yassen shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll be at the local bar at around eight. Feel free to drop by and have a drink with me. Both of you." He turned and started heading towards the main road.

"Mine's on a side road," Dean explained when Christina asked why they weren't following the Russian.

Christina smiled. "And you definitely aren't taking me to some secluded part of the forest where you'll brutally murder me and hide the body?"

Dean laughed. "No, I promise. I usually hunt those kinds of people- or, well, monsters."

"So," he gave her a look. "What did you mean back there, 'patch myself up'? What, are you afraid of hospitals or something?"

Christina internally kicked herself. She hated explaining this to people. It was embarrassing and usually made things very awkward between her friends and significant others.

"It's... it's just my dad and I... and... well, we live on a reservation."

"Like, Native American?"

"Yeah." Dean raised both eyebrows. "That's pretty cool. So, what tribe? Cree? Cherokee?"

"Navajo. Down in New Mexico and Arizona."

"Oh." Dean considered this for a while. They had stopped walking and were standing in the middle of a small wooded area. His car, an old black Chevrolet, was a few yards away, next to a dirt road. "So, not a lot of money, huh?"

"My dad has a trust fund set up for me when he dies, and I work part-time back in Chandler, but... we're working-class citizens. That's how it's always been. I don't really want to talk about it." Dean nodded. "Whatever you say, princess. How about I drop you off at wherever you're staying and I'll meet you at the bar Yassen mentioned?"

"Sounds great." Christina climbed into the passenger seat of the Chevy, admiring the leather seats and vintage stereo. Her arm ached dully, and looked angry and red. She bit her lip, pushing down her discomfort as Dean turned on the ignition and the Chevy purred to life.

AC/DC blasted through the stereo, making Christina jump. She shouted over the music, "Why am I not surprised that you listen to rock?"

Dean winked. "That's how I roll, princess. Windows down, music blasting."

Christina laughed as he pulled out onto the highway and turned up _Back in Black_ as loud as it could go.

* * *

Christina arrived at the bar with bandages wrapped around her arm and a plethora of fake IDs in her wallet. She spotted Yassen and Dean at one of the middle tables, each with a glass of beer. Dean had a plate of French fries, which he picked at absently. They smiled as she sat down, and Yassen waved a waitress over to bring them another round of booze.

"So, now we're all here," Yassen said as their drinks arrived, "why don't we all explain how we ended up hunting the same ghost? That's a pretty huge coincidence, even by my standards."

Christina shrugged, grabbing a handful of Dean's fries and stuffing them in her mouth. "Dunno. I came up here from a hunt in Colorado. Skinwalker. I got a message from the Roadhouse to go and check this case out."

"'The Roadhouse'?" Yassen echoed, cocking an eyebrow.

"You know Ellen and Bill Harvelle?"

"I've heard of them."

Christina saw Dean grimace. She carried on, "Well, Ellen and her girl, Jo, they own a bar in the middle of nowhere, the Roadhouse. Hunters from all over stop in and have a drink, chat, whatever. It's a good pit-stop."

"Ah. A few hunters I ran into last month mentioned it, now that I think about it."

"Anyway," Christina continued, "what about you two?"

Dean picked up a fry and scrutinized it before popping it in his mouth. "My dad was working on a case in Nevada- some kind of shapeshifter. He heard about this one and pointed me to Montana since he was about to gank the thing. Speaking of that," he pulled a flip-phone out of his pocket and held it to his ear. "Duty calls. Sorry, gotta take this." He got up from the table, taking his beer with him. As he headed outside, Christina heard him exclaim, "Sammy? You can't be serious..."

Yassen leaned over the table, taking a long drink from his beer bottle. Wiping his mouth, he said in a low voice, "I don't trust him."

Christina chuckled dryly. "You're a hunter. You don't trust anybody." Yassen gave her a dark look. "So are you. Don't tell me you trust him because he's another pretty face."

"Excuse me, but _how_ long have we known each other?" Yassen said nothing.

"That's right. Since this afternoon. Which was-" Christina checked her watch, "-five hours ago. Give me one good reason why I should be drinking with either of you."

Yassen lowered his voice even further. "Do you know who he is? He's Dean Winchester. _The_ Dean Winchester. The one with the psycho dad hell-bent on finding some demon."

"And you think he's some trigger-happy hick with a mission from God?"

Yassen rolled his eyes and leaned back again, less serious. "Just don't come running to me when you wake up one morning to find him chasing after some make-believe bogeyman that killed his mama."

Christina grinned. "You'll be the first person I'll call."

"Okay, what'd I miss?" Dean must have finished his call. He sat down heavily in his chair and grabbed a fry from the plate. "Any juicy bits of gossip I should know about?"

"Actually, I got a call from my dad," Christina lied, nodding at Yassen, "He wants me back in Chandler."

"Wait," Dean called as she got up to leave, "at least give me your number so we can meet up again?" Christina smirked. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"'Course not," Dean said evenly, not missing a beat. "I might be in a bit of trouble and could use the backup if my brother or dad's not there. You two are pretty good at what you do."

"Sure thing, then. Here," Christina dug a pen out of her pocket and scribbled her cellphone number twice on a napkin. She tore the napkin in half and handed Yassen and Dean the halves.

They did the same, and she folded the numbers and placed them inside her wallet.

As she left the table, Dean grabbed her arm. "Hey," he said quietly, "don't get yourself killed out there. I'd be pissed if you did."

Christina laughed and detached her arm from him. "I'll bear that in mind when I'm bleeding to death on some farm road in Kansas."

She turned and exited the bar, dialling a number into her cellphone. It rang a few times, then a voice picked up with a gruff, "Who is this?"

"Hey, Dad," Christina said as she headed to her motel to pack her things, "I'm coming home."

END.


End file.
